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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



This is to certify that there have been 
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CHARLECOTE 

OR 

THE TRIAL OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 



C H AR LECOTE 

OR 

THE TRIAL OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 



BY \S 

JOHN BOYD THACHER 



ILLUSTRATED BY 
CHARLES LOUIS HINTON 



DODD, MEAD & COMPANY, NEW YORK 

ANNO DOMINI ONE THOUSAND EIGHT 

HUNDRED AND NINETY-FIVE 






T3 



COPYRIGHT, IO95, BY 
JOHN BOYD THACHER 



THIS LITTLE BOOK IS DEDICATED 
TO 

WILLARD FISKE 

WHO TO-DAY HOLDETH THE LANDOR VILLA, 

ON THE HILLSIDE OF 

FIESOLE, 

AND WHO FROM THE HANDS OF DISCERNING 

FORTUNE HATH HAD NOT ONLY 

THE FIGS AND OLIVES 

BUT 

THE WIT AND FANCY 

OF 

WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR 



PREFACE 



w 



PREFACE 

E are in a strait to frame 
an excuse for what may 
seem to some an act of literary 
vandalism. When Walter Sav- 
age Landor wrote his "Cita- 
tion of William Shakespeare," 
he gave to English literature 
one of its masterpieces. Who- 
so addeth to or taketh away 
from such a work committeth a 
literary sin. The State protects 
its citizen who conceives a fancy 



and develops it to a practical 
invention. Under certain con- 
ditions the State permits an- 
other to utilize the prior inven- 
tion when a combination in 
which it is used is marked and 
differing. We can only creep 
under this protecting wing and 
justify ourselves in its lati- 
tude. 

We have appropriated the 
conceit of Landor that in his 
early youth Shakespeare was 
cited before Sir Thomas Lucy, 
charged with the killing of a 
deer in the Knight's forest. 
We have taken his dramatis 
persona? and added to the com- 



pany the figure of Hannah 
Hathaway. We have in a few 
instances employed the very 
words found in his work. We 
have run the Landorian thread 
in and out of our own poor 
loom and if the product be un- 
satisfactory it is because of the 
imperfection of our mechanical 
contrivances and the infelicity 
of the workman. But here 
endeth our offending. The 
very richness of the poet's 
fancy, the elegance of his dic- 
tion, the loftiness of his style, 
the constant presence of his 
personality, all are gifts which 
belong to Landor alone and 



which we can neither ape nor 
wear. 

When the Baconian theory 
of the authorship of Shake- 
speare's plays was first sug- 
gested it found some accept- 
ance because of the unsubstan- 
tial support on which rested 
the personality of Shakespeare. 
Information concerning his life 
is meagre and incomplete. 
Cloud and shadow hide from 
us his presence. Where men 
hear a voice and behold no fig- 
ure they yield to uncertain fears 
and doubt gets hold on them. 
Could a man speak as he spake, 
utter such thoughts, so unfold 



nature's secrets, so unriddle the 
human heart, unless that man 
had been part of the lives of a 
multitude of his kind ? Could 
such a man have walked abroad 
without touching hundreds of 
other real men in his London 
life ? Must not such a man 
have written countless letters ? 
Must he not have somewhere 
registered his share in passing 
events ? Yet we know less of 
this man than of any other lit- 
erary character of his age. 
We do not know how he lived 
nor with whom he lived. We 
do not know how he looked in 
form and in feature. His 



mighty brain must have dwelt 
behind a high forehead and so 
men have drawn for us the 
Droeshout portrait. We do 
not know in what he was like 
unto other men, nor in what 
he was differing from other 
men. We have no specimen 
of his handwriting, unless it be 
found among five disputed sig- 
natures. 

Tradition has not been bold 
enough to tread further on a 
way in which fact dare not 
venture. As there are scarcely 
three authentic facts connected 
with his career — beyond the 
record of his christening, his 



purchase of property and his 
death— so have there come 
down to us only about three 
traditions. He perhaps killed 
a deer in Charlecote forest. 
He perhaps held the horse of 
some courtier before the door 
of a play-house. He perhaps 
had a drinking bout with Ben 
Jonson in some country tavern. 
And this is all — all of fact and 
all of tradition ! History may 
have thought the elements of 
his soul too great to suffer the 
relation of their union with the 
common existence of the body, 
and so have swept from the 
record the doings of his life. 



To us Shakespeare is a real 
man who once lived in a real 
world. 

Landor has taken one of 
these few traditions and treated 
it as a fact. He has thus be- 
come a historian and no his- 
torian may have exclusive use 
of a fact. We have accepted 
this story of the slain deer and 
of Shakespeare's trial before Sir 
Thomas Lucy. If we acknowl- 
edge that the tale we here tell 
was first made by Landor, we 
may justly expect Landor to 
account for discrepancies and 
apparent inaccuracies. If there 
was no law against deer steal- 



ing punishable with death in 
the reign of Queen Elizabeth, 
the indictment was drawn by 
Landor and the degree of the 
crime was fixed by him. 

We here try to represent 
Shakespeare, the youth, in 
three characteristic poses. In 
the first scene we present him 
as the lover, tender of affection 
and true in constancy. We 
take more than a lustrum from 
the years of Hannah Hathaway, 
that the fire of a more ardent 
look may be in her eye as she 
turns her face loveward. If she 
is shrewish, neither Shakes- 
peare nor we shall guess it. 



Arms of love were never made 
so strong that they could hold 
a soul like his in Stratford town, 
and we hear Shakespeare re- 
vealing to Hannah the chal- 
lenge his spirit hath had from 
the outer world and for a larger 
life. In the second scene we 
present Shakespeare as the vil- 
lage ne'er-do-well, exchanging 
badinage with the yokels in the 
forest. He mocks but obeys 
the authority they magnify. In 
the third scene we have re- 
painted Landor's setting of the 
trial, and present the youth in 
the consciousness of his mental 
supremacy, playing with the 



will and purposes of the Judge 
as deftly as Hamlet fingered 
the stops of his flute. If his 
departure through the open 
window is sudden and unor- 
dered, there is no resentment in 
his glance against the Knight, 
fond and foolish, but only un- 
utterable love for his Hannah, 
fair and faithful. 

In all this we have seen 
Shakespeare as a man, moving 
as a man, feeling as a man, 
speaking as a man. Shakes- 
peare the mature poet, no 
pen dare familiarly describe. 
Shakespeare the youth, moved 
by ambitious thoughts and sus- 



tained by plighted love, we 
have even dared to approach. 
If the reader shall withhold 
from us all acknowledgment of 
originality, let him at least at 
our instance turn again to Lan- 
dor's work and refresh himself 
with his inimitable fancy. 

J. B. T. 

Albany, November 5, 1895. 



CHARACTERS 



CHARACTERS 
Sir Thomas Lucy, Knight, Justice of the Peace 
Silas Gough, Chaplain 
William Shakespeare, Prisoner 
Joseph Carnaby, 1 Foresters, Constables and 
Euseby Treen, J Witnesses 

Hannah Hathaway 
Ephraim Barnett, Clerk to Sir Thomas Lucy 



TIME 

The Year of Our Lord, 1582 



synopsis 
Scene I. In Front of the Cottage of Hannah 

Hathaway 
Scene II. The Park at Charlecote 
Scene III. The Great Hall at Charlecote House 



SCENE I 



tarjje (Atrial of U^iUiam Sfcafte^peate 



Hannah 
Hathaway 



Silas Gough 



SCENE I 

(/// front of the cottage of Hannah Hatha- 
way. It is early evening. The cottage is in 
the right middle distance. As the curtain rises 
Silas Gough is driven out of the cottage by 
Hannah Hathaway with loud and vehement 
scoldings.) 

OUT, out, out, thou unholy 
holy-man, thou divine 
obstructor of righteousness, 
thou ecclesiastical villain, thou 
enemy of good, thou beguiler 
of thy mother's sex, thou pros- 
ecuting persecutor of innocent 
maidens ! 

As to innocency, I am not 
now summoning thee before 
any bar and as to thy maidenly 



Cbarleeote, or 



loud-crying virtues, I am not at 
this moment an echoing wall, 
but this, dear Mistress Hannah, 
I fain would aver and by my 
dress which speaks of religion, 
no matter what tongue I ply 
within my teeth, by this dress 
1 swear, I never yet did touch 
a hand like that ; and well I 
know thy hand is no maiden's 
hand, but the hurler of a lusty 
dame's indignation and so I 
shall say and ever so shall I 
think until the blood go on 
coursing again from its suffused 
tenting in the hollow of my 
cheek. 



Hannah 
Hathaway 



Thou oughtest rather to re- 
joice and be pricked with a 
timely hope of salvation at the 



(Cbe (9tria! of l©tHiam .^ftaftejspeate 



Silas Cough 



Hannah 
Hathaway 



visitation of blood to thy sin- 
seamed face. If blood can 
reach thy cheek, the power of 
God may yet reach thy heart. 
But as touching thy oath, it 
is false like the practice of 
thine own preached word and 
thou art forsworn. If I had 
but yielded this hand to thy sly 
but constant search each time 
thy presence fouled the air 
Heaven sent my lungs, I had 
now no hand, no flesh, no fin- 
gers. 

Oh ! Mistress Hannah, the 
soothing hand of the Church — 
(reaches out for her hand) 

Unhand me, hand of 
Church ! The soothing hand 



Cbariecote, or 



of the Church is a balm-bear- 
ing hand and the inverted palm 
holds it as a blessed chalice ; 
but thy hand is the hand of 
vice, thy hooked fingers clutch 
with unlawful seekings, thy 
flesh tingles with hot and vi- 
brating desire. Thou knowest 
no seemliness withal. Didst 
thou not at the funeral rites to 
good Dame Mowbry but three 
days laid to rest, grasp my fare- 
welling hand as I did uncurtain 
the death sheet from off her 
fastened face ? 

Twas a churchly office I 
would have done and saved 
thine unfamiliar hand. 



Hannah 
Hathaway 



How many days have gone 



(2tbe (Cttal of i©ifliam .§>ftaftc?pcarc 



since at Judith Hemming's 
wedding thou didst seize my 
hand as I laid upon her head 
her wreath of orange promises 
and when, but for my caught- 
up care, a luckless omen had 
wreathed us all in pain ? 

It was not the cap of or- 
ange blossoms I did think up- 
on, but of thy kisses ripened 
for faithful wooer like the 
Knight's holy Chaplain and yet 
which thou wouldst have 
thrown uncounted and un- 
noticed on Judith's wealthy 
mouth. 



Hannah 
Hathaway 



Go thou and woo some 
toothless dame. 



Silas Cough 



Tis my sweet will to woo 



Cfoarieeotc, or 



Hannah 
Hathaway 



Silas Gough 



Hannah 
Hathaway 



thine unmelting will. (Runs 
toward her.) 

Tis my sweet will that no 
wooer among men shall have 
his sweet will of me save only 
and forever mine own Sweet 
Will. 

Thine own Sweet Will will 1 
some near-by day hang and 1 
do tell thee the gibbet is al- 
ready timbered and the joints 
eager for their firm establish- 
ment on which shall swing his 
bold and worthless carcass. 

Out, out and away, 1 say, 
thou miserable exuding slime 
from the bottomless pit, thou 
rank and vegetable-grown soul, 
thou diseased Preacher, thou 



€be (Crial of UMliam .§>bahe?peare 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Hannah 
Hathaway 



Will 
Shakespeare 



crawling scavenger, thou creep- 
ing mal-spoken thing, out, 
out 

(Enter Will Shakespeare 
with a gun upon his shoulder 
and gazing coolly at the angry 
pair, pretending not to see Si- 
las.) 

How now, Hannah mine, 
why so hot, when the evening 
is so cool ? 

Oh ! how to tell thee ! a 
thousand plagues 

What then hath disturbed 
thee so ? It cannot have been 
the temperate trees, for they 
have turned their leaves face 
downward for the night. It 



Cbadctote, or 



cannot have been the birds, for 
they have long since tucked 
their pecking-tired heads be- 
neath their mattressed wing. 
The village life hath stopped 
and no one but our two poor 
human selves 



Hannah 
Hathaway 



And dost thou not see this 
impious priest ? 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Why, behold Master Silas, 
the anointed preacher to souls 
and parish lamp to natural feet ! 
But still, I do maintain I was 
right, for I do not think we can 
call him human, dost thou, 
Hannah ? Are his works man- 
ly or unmanly ? When hast 
thou in thy charitableness 
known him to do aught of 



<3Tbe (£rial of MDifliam &baftespeare 



Silas Gough 

Will 
Shakespeare 



manly deed or when hast thou 
heard him speak a single man- 
like thought ? Verily, as I am 
an oathable man, thou art no 
human man but a thing, a 
black, unpleasing, misguided, 
unredeemable thing ! A thing 
with eyes that roll and go 
backward and forward on their 
axised sockets ; a thing with 
ears to drink in scandal and 
tattled gossip and a soul like a 
trough to dough it in and knead 
it into current report until the 
entire parish hath fed on thine 
unwholesome bread. No, thou 
art no man, thou art a 

Dos 



No, no, Silas, thou art no 
dog. A dog is faithful, a dog 



•Cbatlecote, or 



Silas Gough 



is honest, a dog is conscion- 
able, a dog is of good report. 
I would not have thee a dog, 
Silas, for I ever was friend of 
dogs. 

1 will have thee hanged, 1 
will have thy heart upon a 
stick, I will hire a brave lad to 
wave thy head upon a pike. 



Hannah 
Hathaway 



Will 

Shakespeare 



His mind is ever on a hang- 
ing. He hath been reading of 
the Apostles and of the end of 
his betters. 

No, no, Silas, I shall never 
be hanged by thee, but this I 
promise, I shall gibbet thee on 
a printed scaffold and there 
shalt thou swing so long as 
letters have a home in Ian- 



(3tbc atrial of U&ittiam .^bahcjspeare 



Silas Gougli 



Will 
Shakespeare 



guage, and while words exist 
men shall cry out as they pass 
thee by, " behold Silas Gougli, 
the dreadful thing.' 1 

I will run and seek Sir 
Thomas. Thou shalt no longer 
disgrace this parish or I will re- 
cite mass in the lowest hell. 
(Runs off.) 

What a relief the demise of 
his presence doth afford. Han- 
nah, was there ever a chaplain 
before Heaven's gate like unto 
this Silas and was there ever a 
name like unto Gough ? Its 
very sound is like the depar- 
ture of the imprisoned air from 
off the stomach and the lungs. 
Gough and cough and off— so 



Charlecote, or 



Hannah 
Hathaway 

Will 
Shakespeare 



Hannah 
Hathaway 



lets no more of him. (Lays 
down his gun.) 

Willie, Willie, he hath seen 
thy gun ! 

What matters it ? Did not 
the gun choke its strong desire 
to converse with Master Silas? 
It did itch and beat against 
mine arm as if its load must 
find a quick escape. It is a 
good, a palpable Christian gun, 
not fit for the base medium of 
uttering speech to such as Si- 
las Gough, even if it be a gun 
of thine own dear sex, Hannah, 
and have the last of all the 
words. It shall have better and 
more wholesome food this 
night. 

Art thou turning outlaw, 



(€be (atrial of U^ifliam &bafcespearc 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Will? Art thou bent on ever 
teasing the constables ? 

Nay, but there is one brave 
deer in Charlecote forest, a 
haughty, blustering, a well- 
antler-multiplied buck, heavy 
with the weight of fat, into 
whose tantalizing eyes I have 
twice looked but both times 
have 1 been gunless and un- 
knifed. He hath challenged 
me to an honorable contest- 
's senses, sharper than weap- 
ons of offense and sounder 
than thrice protected buckler, 
against my skill with the im- 
prisoned powder and the bru- 
tal slug. Three times have I 
sought him with my gun but 
never yet have nearer come 



Crjadecotc, or 



than to see the waving defiance 
of his well flagged tail or to 
hear the whistling music of his 
nostril and the disdainful march 
of his firm and fearless tread. 
But 1 do know the way he 
walketh to the pool for his re- 
freshing drink and this night 
shall fat Master Buck lower his 
flag to me. 



Hannah 
Hathaway 



But to kill the lord's deer ! 
It is greatly punishable. 



Will 
Shakespeare 



It shall be my last deer and 
my last offense. Hannah, lis- 
ten! When 1 came into the 
world there came with me two 
souls, twin in birth but twain 
in kind, differing in complexion 
and bequeathment of gifts as 



(fttje atrial of l©iHiam .§>bafte8pearc 



Hannah 

Hathaway 



Will 

Shakespeare 



the lime-licked water differs 
from the blood of the vine. 
The one is my Stratford soul, 
the soul that lets me seek game 
from out the forest and at the 
tavern and in the vestry, that 
invites me to perplex magis- 
trates and to trouble authority. 
My other soul is my better 
part, broad like the continents 
that drink of the waters, deep 
like the seas that eat of the 
land, high like the heavens that 
sup on the hope of mortals. It 
calls me ever by name and I 
listen to it as to a familiar. 

And with what soul lovest 
thou me, Will ? 

My Stratford soul were too 



Cbadecotc, or 



Hannah 
Hathaway 



mean, too common, too clayey 
a thing to love thee with, my 
Hannah. It is walled 'round 
with very brief powers and it 
tires with the exercise of mo- 
ments. I would love thee with 
that other soul which knows 
neither bounds, nor wearyings 
nor ending of days. No regis- 
ter hath yet been tabled to 
measure my love for thee. 
The greater circle this better 
soul of mine enlarges, the 
greater scope shalt thou have 
of my love. 

But whither will such a tre- 
mendous soul lead thee ? If it 
take thee out of Stratford, I 
shall die. 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Wait ! thou rememberest, 



(€bc (€nal of UMliarn .^ftahcjspcare 



surely, the day we walked by 
the Avon and I did tell thee of 
La Pucelle, the man-maid of 
France, born in the furrow and 
wedded to the plow and how 
she heard strange voices and 
saw forms come back from 
Heaven and how she for a time 
won battles and propped a 
throne. 



Hannah 
Hathaway 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Yea, and I did tell thee that 
I would not greatly love to hear 
such voices or see such figures, 
but would for my part keep 
close to the plow and say 
prayers for stoneless furrows. 
I wish thou wert less bold of 
spirit, Will. 

Those who are called to 
from out the air, those who 



Crjatlccote, or 



Hannah 
Hathaway 



Will 
Shakespeare 



are permitted to hear the 
voices, must listen to their 
charges or they anger the Gods. 
Hannah, girl, I hear these 
voices, I see these figures, or 
figures like unto them. Day 
and night, hour after hour, 1 
look on a passing spectacle, an 
unrolling of scenes that have 
been acted and I feel that it is 
for me to whom these strange 
things are shown to put them 
into some great and perpetual 
verse. 

And these things thou seest, 
these things thou hearest, are 
they not all in the Chronicles ? 

The fall of a king is indeed 
chronicled in the histories, but 
how fell the king ? The throne 



@rbc (Crial of UMliam &bake»pcare 



was strong ; whence came the 
wind which over-toppled it? It 
is this story I shall tell. I see 
the shadows and eclipses of 
events, the patient weaving of 
wicked patterns, the parcellings 
of purposes, the preparation of 
vilest instruments ; I hear the 
planning of cunning tongues 
in secret council, the treacher- 
ous engagement of foreign 
Princes, the eloquent speech of 
Senates, the building of Trojan 
horses, the shaking tread of 
marching hosts, the mighty 
clash of arms and — then falls 
the King. 1 shall enumerate 
and string the very cords that 
move the human heart and 
that move the world. I will 
give the cause of happened 



Crjartecote, or 



Hannah 
Hathaway 



Will 
Shakespeare 



things, the cause, the causes 
and every several part which 
by multiplying can itself cause 
a cause. I will account for 
each sand grain that goes into 
the glass to measure the hurry- 
ing hour. 

And will this busy world 
listen to thee ? 

I shall go to London and 
there make plays. I shall be 
heard to speak through many 
mouths. My characters shall 
stamp and strut in story on the 
stage. Men shall say "How 
plain is the falling out of this 
design. It could not come 
to other consummation," or 
"such ambition by travelling 
such a road must have had 



(Ibe (Crial of JBrtlmm .f>ba&c«peare 



Hannah 
Hathaway 



Will 

Shakespeare 



end in such abandonment," or 
"surely such hate must have 
heated anew the fires of 
Hell—" or "Love like this 
must have been born in Heaven 
and even in this very way is 
now returned there." 

Ah ! Will, thou art spread- 
ing a wing that shall bear thee 
away from me in body and in 
spirit. I do not like this flight. 
I shall not have even thy Strat- 
ford soul for mine own. Thou 
wilt no longer love me. Thou 
wilt see fairer faces, touch 
softer hands, feel sweeter 
kisses. 

Nay, sweet Ann, a thou- 
sand kisses from a thousand 
mouths shall never borrow the 



Cbariecotc, or 



love I have for thee. We can- 
not contend against my going. 
It would be easier to battle 
against a King's decree. It 
must be so. But 1 shall love 
thee absent with an increase of 
new affection like hunger brings 
to long-stayed appetite. My 
muse shall rehearse its earliest 
songs to thee. My pipe shall 
utter into thine imagined ear 
each day its choicest notes. 
No flower I see shall breathe 
other than thy perfume. The 
birds I hear will I think to have 
flown from out thy hand and 
1 will give their wings messaged 
burdens to straightway bear to 
thee. And soon the map of 
winter will be crossed and with 
the first lisping of the spring I 







Hd 








H 


jfc 








b 


BLimL 








tIT^;.. (■ I'"; 


^ 




F*v 




^4 














a 'I^^HjH 









(Cbe (3Erml of UDilliam &baftejgpeare 



shall see thee once again. Be 
thou brave and help me keep 
up to my great designs. 



Hannah 
Hathaway 



Will, my Will, do thou here 
and now swear me a solemn 
promise never to forget me, 
never to let me lose thy love ? 



Will 

Shakespeare 



So will I swear. By what 
shall I swear? 



Hannah 
Hathaway 



Thou believest that the 
shining stars rule in the affairs 
of men. 1 would have thee 
constant like the stars. Swear 
then by them — swear by the 
stars. 



Will 

Shakespeare 



Then, that will I do. 1 do 
swear by the sun that governs 
the day, 1 do swear by the 



Cbarlccote, or 



moon that rules the night, I do 
swear by the stars that ever 
have their will of men, never 
to forget thee, my Hannah 
Hathaway, never, never, never. 



(Curtain falls on scene I.) 



SCENE II 



(fflbc (Cnal of UMiiam .t>tmfccspcarc 



SCENE II 



Euseby 
Treen 



(Charlecote forest at night. The trees are 
elms and willows. A shot is fired in the dis- 
tance. Soon after enter two foresters, Joseph 
Camaby and Euseby Treen. ) 



J 



OSEPH CARNABY, what 
was that ! Was't a gun ? 



Joseph 
Camaby 



It surely was a gun and 
spake its piece not far from 
Mickle Meadow. Tisthere the 
deer go down at night to drink. 
Let us keep in the shadow of 
these elms and willows and we 
soon shall see. 



Euseby 
Treen 



I do not like to pry into 
shots and noises like unto 



Cbadccote, or 



these. Nor do I like the forest 
at night. Two and thirty 
years, boy and man, have I 
kept guard by day in these 
woods but never yet did I 
meddle with them by night. 
I would I were at the tavern. 
The memory of ale is troubling 
my throat greatly. 



Joseph 
Carnaby 



Let the ale await thy tank- 
ard and let thy tankard await 
thee. There will be a gallant 
company of tankards for us 
both if we obey Master Silas 
Gough and if we arrest Will 
Shakespeare with his fragrant 
dilect — though for my part if 
we do find him only with a 
slain deer I think we shall have 
done a good night's work. 



(SEfte Atrial of aMitam &rjafce;spearc 



Euseby 
Treen 



Joseph 
Carnaby 



Euseby 
Treen 



Then do thou arrest the lad 
and I will seize the deer. If 
the deer be properly dead I can 
bear it hence or if his throat be 
so cut that he be fair on his 
way to dying I shall end his 
life. I am a master hand with 
a dying deer and that thou 
knowest — and all the parish 
knows it — but I nearly die with 
thirst. If I had but what I left 
in the brown mug at the noon 
hour! 

Nay, there may be as many 
as ten lusty villains employed 
in this robbing gang and they 
would have of us our lives as 
quickly as a bird's. 

I say let the woolstapler's 
son alone. We can summon 



Cfjarlccotc, or 



him before the Justice in the 
light of day on the morrow and 
I can imagine the killing of the 
deer, aye, and aver to the same 
as well as if I did stop to behold 
it. I cannot see well in the 
night and already begin to feel 
ill of the trees. 1 will run to 
the tavern, Joseph, and will 
send the stable lad, a good 
stout youth and famous with 
the cudgels. But what hast 
thou now, what seest thou up 
there, Joseph ? 



Joseph 
Carnaby 



1 did see a star fall from out 
the heavens straight down to 
the earth and drop like a 
ripened nut from off the highest 
tree. 



Euseby 
Treen 



Then we are lost ! If so be 



(ftfce (&ria\ of J©ifliam Sbafccopcarc 



that a single star be gone from 
the sky it will be brought home 
to us, for thou didst see it first 
in the heavens and then did 
see it drop and if it be charged 
to us, we shall die for it. No, 
no, Joseph, come away, come 
away to the tavern. 



Joseph 
Carnaby 



We have bound ourselves 
to do this for Master Silas and 
we must keep near unto our 
word. 



Euseby 
Treen 



There is harm in this busi- 
ness and if it be Lucifer that 
thou didst see drop down out 
of the sky, it is certain that the 
Evil One himself is joining in 
this night's work. Joseph, 
Joseph, let us say our prayers ! 



€badecote, or 



Joseph 
Carnaby 



Thou art the foolishest 
forester in the three parishes if 
thou thinkest that the Evil One 
would mind such as us when 
there are so many in the world 
trying to do good and fashion- 
ing pious works. He will have 
big hands to thwart and deal 
with their plans and will give 
us never a thought. 



Euseby 
Treen 



Aye, man, in truth it is a 
sweet comfort at a time like 
this when the devil is seen by 
our own eyes to be abroad, to 
think that we have done no 
great good in our lives to have 
made him unhappy, nor have 
we prevented the working of 
some evil in which perhaps 
Lucifer had much heart. No, 



<3tbe (Stria! of flMIiam Sbaftcspcare 



I feel that thou art right and 
we have not angered the good 
Lucifer, the kind Lucifer, the 
sweet, fair and just Lucifer, the 
— (Just then Will Shakespeare's 
voice is heard in the far distance 
singing.) 

Will The Devil went searching for men and for Priests, 

Shakespeare He searched through the forests, he searched 
through the streets, 
And whenever he gathered a faithless fat soul 
He plunged it adown to the brim-stony bowl. 

Oh ! the Devil was busy 

And his hand it was sore, 
But he wriggled his pitch-fork 

And cried for yet more: 

" Fattened Priests all in black or good lay-men in 

buff—" 
But when he gets Silas he'll have Devil enough. 



Joseph 
Carnaby 



In the name of Heaven, 
Euseby Treen, get down on 



Cbartccotc, or 



thy knees and let us commend 
our souls to God. I did not 
think so fair a night could grow 
such clouds of brimstone. Thy 
sweetness toward the Devil 
hath well nigh lost us our souls 
to say nothing of our pre- 
cious bodies. Get down on 
thy knees, man, down on thy 
knees. 

(Both kneel and mumble 
prayers to God for mercy and 
protection ; Euseby being loud- 
est in his exclamations for help 
from Heaven and of hostility to 
the Evil One. At this instant 
Shakespeare appears at one 
wing with a deer slung across 
his shoulders in such a manner 
as to bring the horns of the 
buck over his own head, and 



(3Ef)c (Atrial of J©ifliam &{mfcespcarc 



beginning 
song — 



to sing another 



Will 
Shakespeare 

Euseby 
Treen 



" The Mermaid, the Mermaid " — 

(Looking up and seeing the 
apparition.) Oh ! Good Lord, 
the Devil ! Oh ! the Devil, my 
good Lord ! Oh Joseph Carna- 
by, that thou shouldst have 
made me take back the good 
words I did speak of the Devil 
and behind his back. Here is 
his worshipful face and thou 
hast ruined my soul, Joseph, 
else had the Devil, the sweet 
Devil, not have come to take 
us. I ever loved thee, Oh ! 
Lucifer, Oh ! good Devil— 

(Both kneel trembling until 
Shakespeare comes forward.) 



Crjadeeote, or 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Joseph 
Carnaby 



Aha, my brave foresters, 
what seek ye on your knees ? 
Art laying wiles for birds? 
Shame on ye for ensnaring the 
Knight's game in his own forest 
and in the Lord's own night. 
Shame on ye I say. 

(As both rise from their 
knees.) We do know thee 
well, but before we have fur- 
ther speech of thee we would 
ask how many men do make 
thy company? 



Will 
Shakespeare 



There would be with me 
eight more men of my own 
veritable mien and disposition 
—an I were a tailor. Being a 
simple shepherd, I am alone. 



Joseph 
Carnaby 



Thou art no shepherd, but 



<€bc (Atrial of i©ifliam Sfoaftespeare 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Joseph 
Carnaby 



Euseby 
Treen 



the son of the woolstapler of 
Stratford. 

Well-a-day, the woolstapler 
hath the last of the sheep. He 
hath the skin and he hath the 
wool and he that hath the last 
of a thing is the keeper of the 
thing and a shepherd is the 
keeper of what distinguisheth 
a sheep, and ergo, a wool- 
stapler is a keeper of the sheep 
and therefore is a shepherd. 

(Aside to Euseby Treen.) 
He is alone, man, and we be 
two! 

Truly Joseph, the lad doth 
prove fairly himself and family 
to be shepherds. A keeper of 
sheep and a keeper of deer to 



Cbariecotc, or 



my mind do appear in a sense 
to be of a brotherhood. Doth 
it not seem to thee we had best 
leave him alone? 



Joseph 
Carnaby 



An thou art alone, Will 
Shakespeare, we do take thee 
into custody in the Queen's 
name, and do thou, Euseby 
Treen, proceed to seize upon 
him. If thou but lay est thy 
hand upon his shoulder in the 
Queen's name he shall be the 
same as in prison and in bonds, 
aye and peradventure under 
the rope's noose as well. 



Euseby 
Treen 



Do thou stand quiet, good 
Master Will, and lay down thy 
gun and do thou fold thine 
arms, for I am about to arrest 



(Cbe atrial of J©ifliam ^rjafteppeare 



by judicial seizure thy carnal 
body and I am a forester, aye, 
and a constable of the peace 
and I am a man of good spirit, 
afraid of nothing mortal and a 
very lion when provoked by 
the villainous and an angry 
tiger when enraged by the un- 
lawful, so that men do say, 
" Beware of Euseby Treen, the 
forester," "It is best to yield at 
the first charge to Euseby 
Treen, the constable." 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Indeed I do stand in dread- 
ful awe of thee and of thy 
valiant courage, good Master 
Constable, but before I yield 
this poor bit of clay to gyves 
and chains, thou must show 
thy warrant. The late King 



Cbadccote, or 



Henry of blessed memory and 
the King and Queens of his 
begetting, have secured to the 
poor and lowly a goodly chance 
of Justice. When I do see thy 
warrant and behold my name 
writ out in big letters, then 
shall I know that I am appre- 
hended in the eyes of the law 
and out of the very teeth of 
circumstances. Show then thy 
warrant. 

(Joseph Carnaby and Euse- 
by Treen are consulting and 
the latter is overheard to say 
"We shall be protected by 
Master Silas," to which Carna- 
by replies, " Do not drag in 
the name of the Priest, we 
shall do well if we use it not 
here.") 



(Cbe (Atrial of J©ifliam .^hafteppearc 



Joseph 


We have no warrant nor 


Carnaby 


have we need of warrant. 




Dost think we carry the Great 




Seal in our hand and the 




Queen's vellum commission, a 




whole yard long, in our coat ? 




We have our staves as au- 




thority and thou knowest well 




we are the Parish Constables. 


Will 
Shakespeare 


And of what am I charged ? 


Joseph 


With being in unlawful and 


Carnaby 


felonous and murderous pos- 




session of a deer from out 




Charlecote forest. 


Will 
Shakespeare 


Then am I innocent, for I 
have no deer. 


Joseph 
Carnaby 


No deer, no deer! then in 



Cbariecote, or 



the name of the beasts of the 
field, what is that thing there ? 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Do not give utterance to 
those monster swearings, 
Joseph Carnaby, do not take in 
vain — speaking the name of 
creatures made by thy Creator. 
Art thou not afraid the heavens 
will fall on thee ? 



Euseby 
Treen 



Aye, Joseph, withdraw thy 
wicked oath, Joseph, else the 
other stars, the brothers and 
sisters and children of Lucifer, 
will fall on us. 



Will 
Shakespeare 



There hast thou a pious 
example, Joseph. Why dost 
thou not shape thy words and 
thy faith to the grave and 



(9tftc (atrial of J©ifliam &r)afcc$peate 



Joseph 
Carnaby 



Will 
Shakespeare 



seemly conduct of thy good 
fellow constable ? 

Thou hast as many words 
as a dog hath fleas and they do 
worry and irritate a thousand 
fold worse — but the point in 
the law is that thou art in pos- 
session of a deer. 

The point in the law then is 
that 1 am not in possession of 
a deer. I was in a distant 
sense in possession of or hold- 
ing a certain remote and acci- 
dental relationship to a carcass, 
a dead body, a lifeless piece of 
venison, but not a deer, not a 
deer, Joseph. A deer is a liv- 
ing thing, that leaps and pants, 
that nibbles the dew-mois- 
tened grass, that drinks the 



Cfjarfecote, or 



Joseph 
Carnaby 

Will 
Shakespeare 



cooling water from out the 
water lily cup, that so looks ap- 
pealingly into the human eyes 
of the hunter who seeks his life 
that I do marvel thou canst 
have the heart, even shame- 
facedly, to talk of killing and 
destroying and of shambles and 
of venison pasty. 

It is a hanging matter. 

It is not a hanging matter 
to be in possession of a carcass, 
or else when thou art dead they 
shall hang a wooden box full of 
worms. 



Euseby 
Treen 



Truly, Joseph, thou art in 
the wrong, for the lad hath 
already shown he hath no deer 
but a carcass and I do not think 



<$be €rial of UMliam Sbaftcspeare 



we can hold him in justice of 
equity. And thou hast irritated 
him and bullbaited his words 
until he hath begun to talk 
of worms, crawling worms, 
viperous worms, man-eating 
worms, things which living I 
never shall learn to abide. He 
hath reasoned this out well 
and stoutly to my understand- 
ing, Joseph, and I say let him 
and his worms crawl fast and 
far away. 



Joseph 
Carnaby 



He hath chopped logic into 
pieces until the face of truth 
looks like the pustules and 
pimples on Granny Madden's 
face. I cannot answer his 
tongue-thrusts, but words that 
come out of his throat shall 



Cbarfecote, or 



Will 
Shakespeare 



not keep the rope from going 
around about it. The deer is 
before our very eyes ! 

Whose deer sayest thou 
this is or was? 



Joseph 
Carnaby 



It was one of the herd from 
out the forest of Charlecote 
and therefore the sole property 
and fief and entail and estate of 
Sir Thomas Lucy, Knight and 
Esquire and Most Worshipful 
Justice of the Peace for these 
Parishes. 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Well, this particular and 
singular entail is well cut off. 
But knowest thou this especial 
and individual deer ? Canst 
thou swear on oath and before 
the judgment place that this 



<€rje <gEriat of J©ifliam .§>bafce£peare 



Joseph 
Carnaby 



carcass ever belonged of right 
to a deer which in turn did be- 
long to Sir Thomas ? Hast 
thou private notches cut upon 
his horns ? Are his antlers 
marked with the branches of 
his ancestral descent ? Dost 
thou recognize his eyes, his 
hair, his nose, his hoofs, his 
tail and wilt thou make full 
and complete inventory of all 
his several parts in thine oath ? 

Nay, butEusebyTreen can, 
for he doth know every hair on 
the hide of every deer in 
Charlecote. 



Will 

Shakespeare 



As thou knowest every hair 
on the head of every dear in 
Stratford, thou and thy wench- 
seeking master, Silas Gough. 



Cftariccotc, or 



But what sayest thou, Euseby 
Treen, thou fearless guardian ? 



Euseby 
Treen 



By my faith, and by my 
word and by my sacred oath, 
I am not sure this night of 
what I do know. What with 
falling stars and songs to the 
honor and glory and sanctifica- 
tion of Devils and Mermaids, 
and wrestling bouts with logic 
and twisting of words, what 
with wooden coffins and wrig- 
gling, slime-mouthed worms, 
I do not rightly think I can 
swear to mine own valor. I 
would swear to the old brown 
doe who was big with young, 
for I did see her drop her male 
fawn under the crooked elm by 
the bottom of the meadow. 



■Cbe (Crial of l©iniam .§>baftespearc 



It was this very day just as 
noon had grown old by two 
full hours and I did mark her 
well. And likewise this buck, 
1 am of a moral surety, was the 
very one that did horn-thrust 
at me last rutting season, and 
I would have sworn to him, 
too, with a ready tongue until 
evil doers began to talk of 
worms and hangings. 



Will 
Shakespeare 



And this buck did angrily 
attack thee ? 



Euseby 
Treen 



That he did and murder- 
ously. 



Will 

Shakespeare 



(Aside.) I thank thee, Euse- 
by Treen, for this avenue out 
of Charlecote forest. 



Cftariecote, ot 



Joseph 
Carnaby 



Didst thou not put down 
this buck in the making of thine 
inventory yesterday to the 
Knight's clerk ? 



Euseby 
Treen 



Aye, that I did and truly 
too, but yesterday was a day 
better than this and it had a 
pleasant and a peaceful night 
going before it, not like unto 
this. 



Will 
Shakespeare 



And how many deer didst 
thou report unto the Knight's 
clerk as his red and entailed 
deer? 



Euseby 
Treen 



Two and eighty were the 
number, two and eighty — for 
I do remember distinctly and 
openly five "twos" and four 



(£rje atrial of J©ifliam &batse#jeare 



naughts and each naught was 
set down opposite its own 
"two" and then there was 
one "two " which did have no 
naught with it but which did 
stand off by itself and good 
Ephraim Barnett did remark 
that the mated figures counted 
up eighty and that the un- 
married "two" brought the 
entire matter up to eighty and 
two. 



Will 
Shakespeare 



I would I had thy gift of 
elucidation. It might serve 
me a good turn in unrolling 
doubts and in solving prob- 
lems. But tell me, yesterday 
the good Knight had two and 
eighty deer, no more and no 
less? 



Cfjariccote, or 



Euseby 
Treen 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Joseph 
Carnaby 



Aye, and to that I will fill a 
paper with crosses. 

And this dead buck being 
no longer a deer but only a 
toothsome carcass would leave 
his herd short by a single deer, 
so that there should be but 
one and eighty, and 1 am 
charged with the caused de- 
pletion ? 

That is the sum and the 
figure and the weight and the 
measure of the matter. The 
Knight hath only eighty-one 
deer by reason of thy removing 
hand, when his book roll will 
disclose and demand of Euseby 
Treen two and eighty. 



Euseby 
Treen 



Thou hast put it pertly and 



(fcbe (Atrial of JDifliam &bafte?i>eare 



smartly, Joseph Carnaby, and 
the lad stands charged before 
us two, being two arms as it 
were of justice, with purloin- 
ing and felonously abstracting 
one of eighty and two deer. 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Thou didst bear witness 
just now to the big brown doe 
dropping on the velvet sward 
beneath the meadow elm this 
very day a buck fawn, and that 
I trow hath well supplied the 
missing figure of one, so that 
at this very moment, just as at 
the moment yesterday when 
the Knight did get his inven- 
toried list, he still owneth, 
possesseth, holdeth and main- 
taineth two and eighty deer 
living and complete in all their 



Cbadecote, or 



parts. Therefore neither can 
Euseby Treen be charged with 
permitting the purloining of a 
single deer nor can 1, the gentle, 
innocent shepherd lad, be justly 
charged with abstracting one 
of eighty-two nor any several 
part thereof. What sayest 
thou, Euseby Treen ? 



Euseby 
Treen 



Thou makest thy figures 
singularly truthful and 1 ever 
heard that figures would breed 
no lies. But surely thou didst 
steal the deer? 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Thou art wrong, 
it to steal ? 



What is 



Euseby 
Treen 



Truly, the best whipped of 
school-boys knoweth that to 



(Cbc €rial of i©ifliam &bafce;speate 



steal is to remove unlawfully 
the property of another from 
off his premises. 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Euseby 
Treen 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Then have I not stolen, for 
on whose premises stand we 
all three, and on whose prem- 
ises reposeth the beautiful car- 
cass of yonder deer? 

Marry, on the premises of 
Sir Thomas Lucy, Knight and 
Justice. 

Then have I removed noth- 
ing lawfully or unlawfully from 
off his premises and thy charge 
is false and fallen to the ground. 
This carcass which thou pre- 
tendest to have seen in my 
company is still on the premises 
of Sir Thomas Lucy, Knight 



Cbadccotc, or 



and Justice, and I do renounce 
all acquaintanceship with it. 1 
will have none of it, none of it. 



Euseby 
Treen 



Joseph 
Carnaby 



Joseph, it doth appear more 
plainly by figures and by ex- 
positions that we cannot hold 
the lad — but what sayest thou ? 

I say, away with him at 
once to Sir Thomas and listen 
no more to senseless words. 



Will 
Shakespeare 



But if thou art to arrest me 
what wilt thou do with my 
companions should I call them 
to my aid ? Wilt thou arrest 
them likewise ? Wilt thou con- 
tend against many ? 



Joseph 
Carnaby 



Thou didst declare that thou 
hadst no companions. 



(€ftc (CriaK of i©ifliam &rjaftej5peare 



Will 
Shakespeare 



See now how careless justice 
is with her memory! Thou didst 
ask me how many men were of 
my company and I declared 
myself to be alone of men — 
(aside) as indeed I sometimes 
think I am in any company — 
but dost thou not know that 
there are other things in the 
world beside men ? Hast thou 
never heard of the spirits which 
haunt these woods and moun- 
tains ? They are my friends. I 
have but to call on the Queen 
of the fairies, on the elves and 
sprites, on the pixies and 
gnomes, on Oberon and Puck 
and thy lives are lost. If I con- 
tent myself with humbler 
things, with their lower serv- 
ants, I shall have ye harried 



Cbadecote, or 



into a senseless mass. I will 
have the clamorous owl 
screech into thine ear, Joseph 
Carnaby, until it part with 
its hearing ; the hedge-hog 
shall needle thy shanks and 
shins until thou art like 
some quarrelsome fellow at a 
fair; the furry legged spider 
shall weave a net, Euseby 
Treen, over thy mouth; batty 
wings shall cover thine eyes; 
spotted snakes shall slime their 
enamelled skin upon thee ; 
blackest beetles shall encom- 
pass thee. In truth there are 
things within this forest which 
belong more to me than to Sir 
Thomas. 



Joseph 
Carnaby 



Thou shalt stay where 



(Cbc (atrial of J©ifliam ^(jaftcjspeare 



thou art, for us. 
of thine owls 
hogs ! 



I want none 
and hedge- 



Euseby 
Treen 



We will away without thee. 
Keep thou thyself thine obedi- 
ent bats and snakes ! 



Joseph 
Carnaby 



Sir Silas, whose errand this 
is, shall deal with thee. 



Will 

Shakespeare 



Oh ! ho ! This business 
then is the doing of Sir Silas 
Gough ! Well, then, I will tell 
thee, I fain would go to him of 
mine own will. Take thou the 
carcass and I will follow a 
docile and contrite prisoner ; 
not after the customary man- 
ner of yoked and drooping 



Crjatlecotc, or 



captives, but still thy prisoner, 
thy prisoner. 

(Exeunt Carnaby and Treen 
bearing the deer on a stave.) 



Will 
Shakespeare 



These hinds of forests and 
of men ! a little food, a little 
drink, a little sweating of the 
brow, a little folding of the 
hands— and the circumference 
and contentment of their days 
are rounded and complete. 
God forbid me such dull sub- 
stance ! Heaven send me no 
such consumption of myself. 
Either I must dwarf my lungs 
or breathe a larger air. The 
axe for the woodman, the net 
for the fisher, but boundless 
space for him who would write 
of men. To-day Stratford, to- 



(Cbe (Crial of r©ifliam &bafce#>eare 



morrow the world ! And for 
thee, oh ! Hannah ! This wing 
I begin to beat against the air 
shall grow in strength until it 
bear us both. I will build our 
nest on the borders of the sky. 
Think not I shall forget thee, 
my Hannah ! What was the 
oath ? I will swear it again 
beneath the benediction of 
thine arms, oh ! trees ! I will 
swear it on the altar of thy 
pure bosom, oh ! earth ! Hear, 
oh ! ye winds, that ride the 
furthest circuits, hear ye now 
my chained and solemn vow ! 
I do swear by the sun that 
governs the day, I do swear by 
the moon that rules the night, 
I do swear by the stars that 
ever have their will of men, 



Cftariecote, or 



never to forget thee, Han- 
nah Hathaway, never, never, 
never ! 

(Exit Will Shakespeare and 
the curtain falls on Scene II.) 



(Cfoe (Crial of JBtfltam &bafte?peatc 



SCENE III 

( The great hall of Charlecote House. On a 
large table in the middle of the hall lies the 
carcass of the deer. At another table, not far 
from an open window, sits Sir Thomas Lucy, 
while Ephraim Baruett, the clerk, is arranging 
papers. ) 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



MASTER Ephraim, what 
hast thou set down for 
us this forenoon ? Is it not 
the trial of the Stratford lad? 



Ephraim 
Barnett 



Aye, your worship, it is the 
trial of William Shakespeare, a 
youth of Stratford hard by. I 
have writ down the lad's name 
Guilielmus Hasta - Vibrans. 
The trade of learning should 
be driven amongst scholars 



Cfcarlceotc, or 



alone and so I may tell your 
worship that no more warlike 
name goes up and down in 
these three parishes, for we do 
read that amongst the high 
Germans the name Guilielmus, 
or Wilhelm, doth signify Hel- 
met of defense and thus this 
present possessor is armed 
with a buckler for his head 
and with a weapon of offense 
for swift-throwing attack. 
Men of warlike naming do 
ever mount upward. Our 
own countryman and Rome's 
Pontiff, the fourth Adrian, 
fetched his name out of Break- 
spear and your worship mind- 
eth to what high place he did 
fight his way, albeit he couched 
with disjointed lance. As 



&be atrial of J©tttiam Srjafccspcare 



touching our rendering of 
Hasta-Vibrans, it is indeed true 
that the older Latinists 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



Hannah 
Hathaway 



There, that will do, Good 
Master Ephraim. 

(Sir Thomas Lucy turns to 
papers on his desk. The door 
opens and William Shakes- 
peare and Hannah Hathaway 
enter in close conversation.) 

Oh! Will, Will, what a 
plight thou art in ! A thousand 
snakes have not ensacked the 
venom Silas Gough hath 
gathered up for thee. The 
man will hang thee if cunning 
and deceit can do it. 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Nay, Hannah, thou know- 
est I believe in the stars and 



Cbariccote, or 



Hannah 
Hathaway 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Hannah 
Hathaway 



Will 
Shakespeare 



the stars have not yet written 
that I shall hang for a bit of 
tallow and horns and hair. 

Can nothing make thee 
serious, Will ? 

After to-day I shall be 
serious all my life, be my days 
many or numbered like scat- 
tered hairs. 

I shall speak for thee. I 
shall bear testimony to thy 
visit to me last night and that 
thou couldst not have had a 
purpose of deer killing in thy 
mind. 

I will aver that since Cupid 
hath armed himself with the 
deadly bow, I did think it pru- 
dent to meet him with a gun. 



&be (Crtal of J©ifliam .§>bafce?peare 



Hannah 
Hathaway 



Dost thou not fear the 
Knight, Sir Thomas ? 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Why this is the very kind- 
liest Knight that ever blinked 
at sun. Many times these last 
few years have I walked by his 
side and talked with him and 
yet ever his head hath been 
bent cloudwards. I verily be- 
lieve he knows me not from 
any other lad whose first beard 
be growing in Stratford. But 
these walks and talks have 
turned his gentle soul into a 
readable book for me. He is 
like an instrument with few 
notes, homely and sweet, and 
this instrument I do fully know 
and can play upon it a simple 
air of pardon and forgiveness. 



Cbartecote, or 



Nay, Hannah girl, never fear 
for me. 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



Master Ephraim, hast all 
ready for the trial ? 



Ephraim 
Barnett 



Aye, your worship, all is 
set and complete as if thou 
were the greatest Justice of the 
Oyer and Determiner in the 
Kingdom. Thou hast thy 
"dedimus potestatem " from 
the Lord Chancellor and I have 
mine office of Clerk of the 
Peace in the naming from thy 
good grace as " Custos rotulo- 
rum," and while I do set 
down in the book the speech 
of truth, nothing thereof shall 
be frustrate or void — that I can 
tell your worship. I have 



fltfte &rial of UMliarn .§>bafcc8pcare 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



Hannah 
Hathaway 



commanded in thy name wit- 
nesses, that thou mayest ex- 
amine each "ad perpetuam rei 
memoriam." I have 

There, that will do, Good 
Master Ephraim. 

(Silas Gough has entered 
and spoken to Sir Thomas 
Lucy who for the first time 
seems to notice the young 
couple.) 

Come thou hither, Mistress 
Hannah, and sit thee here by 
me. It is not seemly that thou 
shouldst stand by that scape 
of grace and village ne'er-do- 
well, as if to support him in 
his iniquity. 

Good Sir Thomas, I must 



Cbadccote, or 



needs stand by him here and 
now, for I am promised to 
stand by him everywhere and 
forever. Of a truth, my Willie 
hath done no wrong. Thou 
dost not know him. 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



Of that, girl, the law, the 
great and sacred law, must 
make disposition. Where are 
the witnesses ? Let the wit- 
nesses come in and depose 
concerning the matter. 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



(Enter Joseph Carnaby and 
Euseby Treen. Ephraim Bar- 
nett the clerk calls each by 
name and each says to Sir 
Thomas, "Your Worship.") 

William Shakespeare of 
Stratford - upon - Avon, seest 



<Cbe (Cml of UMliam &rjaftcspeare 



thou these good men who are 
deponents against thee ? 



Will 

Shakespeare 



Silas Gough 



(Peering into the faces of 
the men.) Faith I would in- 
deed rejoice and the neighbor- 
hood would have much advan- 
tage if I or any honest citizen 
could see these men good, 
Your Worship. But Joseph 
Carnaby and Euseby Treen are 
henchmen of yonder Silas 
Gough and therefore they can- 
not be good nor can they be 
seen to be good. 

Good in thy teeth, thou 
virtueless villain. 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Aye, good is in my teeth, 
and behind my teeth, and be- 
tween my teeth, but it is a 



Cbarieeote, or 



fruit thou hast never tasted. 
It would sadly disconcert thy 
mouth and overturn the furni- 
ture of thy stomach could it 
but enter those vile caverns. 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



Nay, thou depraved and 
ribald youth, thou must bear 
thyself more becomingly before 
thy betters. Master Silas did 
but seek to read thee a timely 
reproof as his priestly office re- 
quireth. He would not have 
thee understand that good 
dwelleth in his mouth or pro- 
ceeded out thereof, nor indeed 
would he convey to thy mind 
that good inhabiteth mine own 
mouth which is the voice-way 
of the first magistrate of this 
shire and properly thy pattern 



(Cbc (atrial of l©ifliam &bafte0pea« 



and better, nor yet that good 
doth or can proceed out of my 
magisterial and knightly mouth 
which by mine office is attuned 
to timely, righteous and true 
words, but he would fain have 
thee learn to invite and give 
glad entertainment to good in 
thine own teeth, that is to say 
in thine own mouth and by the 
office of thine own tongue. 
(Aside.) This extempore ser- 
mon I have read the youth 
doth not seem to be cut and 
framed in all its parts as I would 
have had it. Methinks, some- 
how, I have hit to one side of 
the heart of the reproof. But 
the morning is hot and wanes 
toward the noon hour, and I 
am singularly dry of throat. 



Cfjarlecote, or 



(To Ephraim Barnett.) Good 
Master Ephraim, I do pray 
thee, have me fetched a draught 
of ale. 



Ephraim 
Barnett 



(To one of the servants.) Ho 
there, Abraham, varlet, bear 
quickly here a well-cooled 
tankard of ale. Your worship 
well perceiveth the best office 
of honest English ale is to 
nourish England's magistracy. 
It doth quicken the wit of 
Judges, it doth unseal the ear 
of wisdom, it doth open the 
eye of validity, it doth soften 
the voice of condemnation, it 
doth uphold the arm of equity, 
it doth much enlarge the heart 
of mercy, it doth speed the 
feet of errantry, it doth swell 



(2Ebc (atrial of J©ifliam &f)afce£peare 



the lungs of obligation, it doth 
counter-strike great mischiefs, 
it doth devise methods, it doth 
propagate reasons, it doth 
reach conclusions, it doth give 
a passing patrimony to the 
poor, it doth consecrate cus- 
toms, it doth minister joys, it 
doth 



Sir Thomas 

Lucy 



(As the ale is brought him.) 
There, that will do, Good 
Master Ephraim, the ale doth 
very well for me. 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Aye, your worship, and 
every doth that Master Ephraim 
doth brew and every doth of 
his doth-anatomy doth but add 
to thy magisterial thirst and to 
the discomforting of even so 



Cfjadccote, ot 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



Joseph 
Carnaby 



unailing a throat as mine 
own. 

Silence, youth, and let me 
taste the cup of peace. By 
my Knighthood, I could have 
furnished good habitation for 
well nigh a full Kilderkin of 
this sensible ale. And now, 
Joseph Carnaby, do thou de- 
pose on the charge and with 
particulars. 

I was returning last night 
from Hampton in company 
with Euseby Treen, here, 
whither we had been on special 
message to seek tidings of 
Andrew Haggit who hath 
absconded. As we passed 
through the Park we did hear 
a gun-shot seeming to come 



<$bc <£rial of UDifliam .^fjaftcspcatc 



from the bottom of Mickle 
Meadow, and there were loud 
voices as in mirth and revelry 
and songs. I plucked Euseby 
Treen by the doublet and 
whispered "Euseby, Euseby, 
there be game stealers abroad, 
let us lie in the shadow of the 
elms and willow trees and cap- 
ture the robbers" 



Euseby 
Treen 



Nay, willows and elm trees 
were the words. 



Will 
Shakespeare 



See, your Worship, what 
discordances. They cannot 
agree on their own story. They 
cannot connive in harmony. 
They cannot even lie together 
under the shadow of the same 
trees. 



Cbadccote, or 



Silas Gough 



The same thing, the same 
thing in the main. 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



The terms are much synony- 
mous and thou mayest hang 
for this crime even were there 
no willow or elm trees in the 
forest. 



Joseph 
Carnaby 



(To Euseby Treen.) The 
Knight will hang him out of 
hand, mark that, Euseby. We 
may as well step forth and 
choose the length of hemp. 



Will 
Shakespeare 



By less differences have 
estates been lost, Kings de- 
posed, homes broken and Eng- 
land, our country, filled with 
homeless, helpless, destitute 
orphans. I protest against it. 



(Cbc (atrial of UMliam .$>rjaftc;8pcate 



Silas Cough 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



Euseby 
Treen 



Protest, indeed. Hetalketh 
like a member of the House of 
Lords. The Lords alone can 
protest. 

The objection doth not ap- 
pear to me to be momentous 
and thou mayest have thine 
ears slit for this charge and no 
account taken in the law for 
this discrepancy. 

(Aside to Joseph.) Get 
thou the knife, Joseph, for 
surely the Knight will fringe 
the lad's saucy ears. He will 
evermore go about the Parish 
with ribbons on the sides of 
his head. 



Joseph 
Carnaby 



I would we could slit his 
tongue. It would greatly 



CbatUtotc, ot 



mend his words and his man- 
ners. 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Nay, Your Worship, thou 
must hear me patiently for I 
have written more than an 
entire year in an Attorney's 
office and have read much of 
the statutes and the laws and 
I do know the sacred rights 
which great judges like thee 
do guarantee unto humble 
Englishmen like me, and I 
would therefore protest under 
the law, under the law. I 
would remind Your Worship 
with respect of the heavy fine 
laid upon a gentleman magis- 
trate of an adjoining county in 
the reign of the sixth Edward, 
for having committed a poor 



(€bc (atrial of UMliam &baftc8peare 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



Joseph 
Carnaby 



man to prison for u being in 
possession of a hare," it being 
afterward proven from out the 
mouths of a cloud of witnesses 
that the hare was at the very 
time in the possession of the 
poor man and not the poor 
man in the possession of the 
hare. 

(Somewhat moved) I do 
not at this moment recall the 
case thou hast cited from the 
books, but we will go on with 
the trial and do thou, Joseph 
Carnaby, be more circumspect 
with thy sworn testimony. 

We were in the shadow of 
the — the trees — the trees, some 
score of furlongs from the rob- 
bers 



Cfoarlccote, or 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



Thou hast said it already — 
all save the furlongs — (to Eph- 
raim) hast room for the score 
of furlongs, worthy Ephraim ? 



Ephraim 
Barnett 



Aye, Your Worship, and 
would have were they as many 
good English miles. I shall 
write mainly in small rounded 
letters which though they be 
like ciphers in form are with- 
out distortness in the intent. 
My quill was plucked by a 
wart-fingered lad in the full of 
the moon, less three days, at 
Candlemas from a gray-black 
goose and ground one hour 
from break of day on a blood- 
red stone from the bed of a 
month-dried brook. It is a 
quill which dare cover much 



(Cfte <3trial of l©illiam Sbafceppeare 



parchment and in some hands 
would outswear a score of wit- 
nesses. But your worship 
well knoweth the honor in 
which I hold mine office. What 
saith the proverb: "Anser, 
Apis, Vitulus, Populosque 
Regna gubernant," that is to 
say, Vitulus, the parchment to 
bear the message ; Apis, the 
wax to hide its meaning from 
the pry of men and Anser, the 
goose which doth provide the 
pen to indite the same, these 
three do rule 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



There, Good Master Eph 
raim, that will do. 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Your Worship will observe 
the good clerk hath stuck the 
hide on the little bee in the 



Cfoartecote, or 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



Will 
Shakespeare 



stead of upon the bigger and 
stronger calf. 

Silence, youth. I know 
thy skill, Ephraim, and that 
there be great flights in thine 
Anser, so that thou leanest not 
too weightily on the neb. 

An', Sir, so hast thy Court 
ever both interrogator and 
Anser. 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



Silence, silence, I say, bold 
youth, and abide in quiet. 
(Aside to Silas Gough.) Me- 
thinks, Silas, the lad hath 
caught something of my wit. 
We may yet break him into a 
steady drawing beast. The 
whistle, mayhap, will do more 
than the whip. 



(Cbe (3Erial of UDifliam &rjaftespcare 



The whistle will blow 

away. The whip will leave 

its good writing up and down 
the flesh. 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



Go on, Joseph Carnaby, go 
on. It doth appear by thy 
testimony that there were a 
huge and desperate gang afloat. 
We have the leader and chief 
of the robber-band and we 
shall forthwith— but I must act 
with prudent speed as be- 
cometh an English magistrate. 
So, do thou proceed, Joseph. 



Joseph 
Carnaby 



I said unto Euseby, " Euseby 
Treen, there seemeth to be at 
least ten in this crowd of evil- 
doers " 



Euseby 
Treen 



Twelve, Joseph — twelve — 



Cbadecotc, or 



nay, it was ten — thou art right, 
Joseph, ten was the exact num- 
ber that thou didst mention. 
It was twelve I had fixed in 
mine own imagining — saying 
unto myself, "Euseby, six of 
these dreadful robbers must 
thou capture, while Joseph 
taketh his own six." But the 
twelve were in my imagin- 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



Aye, Your Worship, the 
twelve were in the imagination 
of Euseby Treen, and the ten 
in the imagination of Joseph 
Carnaby, for I do declare that 
in Charlecote forest last night 
I was alone and without the 
company of a human soul. 

(To Ephraim Barnett.) Hast 



(ftbe (Crial of UDrtiiam ^bahesprare 



set down the ten rogues in the 
Park, Ephraim? 



Ephraim 
Barnett 



Aye, your worship, an' I do 
marvel that nine of them may 
yet be in that sacred inclosure. 
The fat deer are daily dimin- 
ished in England and the God- 
less no longer do have regard of 
her noble Parks whereof she 
once was more blessed than 
the whole of Europe besides. 
The time was when living deer 
raised the stomachs of Gentle- 
men with their chase and after- 
wards, being made venison, 
greatly nourished and soothed 
them with their flesh. Great 
Parks were there in England 
before the Conquest and in the 
Book of the Doomsday we do 



Cbadrcote, or 



have report of Parcus Silvestris 
bestiarum. The first King 
Henry did encompass with a 
wall of stone 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



Silas Gough 



There, Good Master Eph- 
raim, that will do. Go on, 
Joseph, thy testimony con- 
vinceth. Shall not a Knight 
have his own Park free of 
marauding dogs ? Shall not 
his deer be free to live or come 
to his table as he may direct ? 
I do tremble to think of what 
England may be coming to in 
these latter days. But I am a 
sworn magistrate. 



Aye, the law is under thy 



feet. 



Will 

Shakespeare 



Oh ! Great Spirit of Justice 



(3Ebe (Crial of UDiUiam &baftcspcarc 



and of Jurisprudence and of 
Institutes ! The law under the 
feet of an English subject and 
of an English magistrate. Oh ! 
that I should have lived — and 
being yet of tender years — to 
hear the desperate charge that 
the law is trampled under foot 
by one of the uprightest Judges 
in the Kingdom, a man of 
probity, a man of extreme 
judicial learning, a man of God's 
own divine clemency, a pru- 
dent Judge, a wise Judge, and 
to hear it charged by a mere 
Priest, an unworthy altar-serv- 
ant, that this great Judge hath 
trampled under his foot the 
Law, the sacred Law ! Oh ! 
most worshipful Justice, pray 
do thou commit me, convict 



Cfmriccote, or 



me forthwith, conduct me even 
this very moment to the gal- 
lows—I can no longer live to 
be in the memory of this vile 
charge and peradventure of its 
repetition. : 

Dog of a woolstapler's lit- 
ter, thou oughtest in truth to 
be hanged. (To Sir Thomas.) 
Your Worship knoweth full 
well that nothing was more 
distant in intent from my heart 
and my purpose than to utter 
disparagement of my Patron 
and my Master ; but this vile 
word-player would distract a 
saint. 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



Nay, good lad, contain 
thyself. Thou art sensitive for 



(2Tbc (Crial of J©illiam &bahes"peatc 



respect and consideration and 
propriety beyond thy years. 
Thou doest well to be in alarm 
at any word of disrespect to- 
ward the law— and indeed I did 
not think it in thee— for on the 
law doth stand this ancient 
Kingdom, its armaments, its 
parliaments, its great Queen's 
majesty, its established Church 
of God, nay, even its very 
Knights and Justices. But, lad, 
I wot not Master Silas only did 
intend to show that as the rep- 
resentative of Justice, I, a mag- 
istrate, did rest for authority 
upon the law, as one might be 
said to stand for a foundation 
upon a rock, the rock being 
law, but the rock is not hurt 
by the standing upon it, nor is 



Ctmrlecotc, or 



aught of disrespect shown 
thereto. But I do like well thy 
solicitude for the great majesty 
of the law and, Silas, methinks 
thou mightest have chosen 
more fitting metaphors and 
similitudes. 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



Joseph 
Carnaby 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Now, Silas, may God make 
thee as humble as thou art 
made humbled. 

Be silent, lad. Go on 
Joseph, and with speed, for the 
morning passeth. 

And then we did hear voices 
singing of a mermaid 

Your Worship well knoweth 
a mermaid hath not been seen 
this far up the Avon these 
twenty years and more. 



(Cbc (Crial of J©iniam .^rjaftcspcate 



Joseph 
Carnaby 



Nay, but we did hear dis- 
tinctly this lad singing of a 
mermaid. 



Euseby 
Treen 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



Aye, that we did truly — and 
I thought I could hear her tail 
sloshing in the brook. 

William, didst thou sing of 
the water-devil-woman ? 



Will 
Shakespeare 



I did sing a song I learned 
long ago. 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



I fain would hear it now 
and incorporate it in the weight 
of judgment which it grieveth 
me sore to say seems accumu- 
lating much on one side of the 
scales. Sing the song, lad, 
that the law may make judg- 
ment. 



Cbarlceote, or 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



The song as I recall it did 
go like this : 

The sea-maid rode on the Dolphin's back, 
Rode thro' the waves on the sea-made track, 

And her tresses were black — 
Alack, so black — 

And her tresses were black, Hey, ho. 

The mermaid landed the rocks upon 
And deceived a Knight with locks auburn, 

And her tresses turned green — 
I ween — so green — 

And her tresses turned green, Hey, ho. 

A white-robed Priest next passed that way, 
To her beguilings his soul gave sway, 

And her tresses turned white — 
The sight — so white — 

And her tresses turned white, Hey, ho. 

She is seen no more on land or sea, 
And Priest and Knight are ever more free, 

From the snare of her hair— 
Tho' fair — the hair — 

From the snare of her hair, Hey, ho ! 

There is not wanting some- 
thing of cadent melody in 



(3tbc (Atrial of t©ittiam &J)afcc;spcare 



thy verse, lad, but methinks 
thou hast not been impartial 
between the lines, giving to 
some more words than thou 
hast bestowed upon others and 
I ever liked evenness of song. 
Besides methinks the subject 
badly chosen. Folks reputed 
to be of sea nativity had best 
be left to themselves by us of 
the land. 

Aye, and what hath such 
as this rogue to do with white- 
robed priests and knights of 
auburn hair. Such villains as 
he are fit only to fall horizontally 
before their betters or to hang 
perpendicularly on the gallows. 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Faith, 1 can play the part of 



•JTbadccotc, or 



Priest to a wonder by swing- 
ing away to the further com- 
parison-pole of thy figure and 
conversation. Piety, Priest 
Silas, is thy business, but thou 
art left-handed in thy trade 
because of thy wicked prone- 
ness. 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



Touching Priests, Silas, it 
seemeth me there should be a 
certain latitude of allusion per- 
mitted poets and writers and 
perhaps a certain familiarity, 
since the priest is the medium 
between salvation and the 
weaknesses and frivolities of 
the world. Am I not in the 
right, Master Ephraim ? 



Ephraim 
Barnett 



Aye, your worship, very 



(3tbc (Crial of J©illiam ^>f)ahe?pcare 



right — that is to say quite right, 
or right in a measure, that is in 
a certain measure or in a certain 
light, somewhat differing in 
medium and complexion, or as 
one might say of a contrary 
appearance, that is to say 
wrong, quite wrong; for it 
doth appear by some proofs 
read out of the book "De 
Gestis Herewardi " that priests 
were in the ancient days of 
that great honor that Knights 
did bow down before them, 
and it is written that they were 
clothed with great power, so 
that the holy Abbot of Canter- 
bury in the reign of William 
Rufus did confer honorable 
Knightdom upon a gentle- 
man—the Abbot being "in 



Cftarlecote, or 



sacra vesta " and the gentle- 
man 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



There, that will do, Good 
Master Ephraim. But a knight, 
albeit his hair should be auburn, 
a color methinks not grown of 
legitimate English air, is of a 
finer and higher kind and it ill 
becometh a verse maker to take 
aught of liberty with his knight- 
hood or his doings. It tendeth 
toward the breeding of dis- 
respect and the decay of vener- 
ation to draw a knight to de- 
struction by the tresses of a 
mermaid. Hast thou forgot 
St. George and the Dragon— 
and is a Dragon less to be 
feared than a sea-woman ? I 
speak now not as a Knight nor 



(2Cbe (atrial of UMliam .^bafteppcarc 



Will 

Shakespeare 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



Silas Gough 



yet again as a Christian but as 
one who observeth the various 
strengths and forces of dragons 
and mermaids. 

Now is my mind enlarged 
by this learning and I do thank 
my good fortune for bringing 
my slow and feeble intelligence 
under the bright light of a 
Knight's gracious mind. 

Silas, the lad is teachable. 
He is a conducible youth and 
we must not let him hang. 

What ! Would Your Wor- 
ship let loose on the Parish a 
stealer of deer, a lover of 
wenches, a maker of verses ? 
Will the silver service be safe 
on mine own church altar ? 



Crjariccote, or 



Will the coffins of the ancient 
Lucys be unrifled in their 
vaults? Will the gold rings re- 
main upon the fingers of the 
dead ? Shall a magistrate turn 
justice out of the door to force 
in thereat undeserved clem- 
ency ? I do greatly fear for the 
Parish. 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



Thou art right, Silas, yet it 
goeth against my grain to hang 
the lad. Let us hear more of 
the witnesses. Go on, Joseph 
Carnaby, what then passed 
after the song ? 



Joseph 
Carnaby 



The matter then was sharp 
and short. I did command 
Euseby Treen to fasten on the 
robbing, deer-stealing villain 



(9tftc (3Trial of J©ifltam &baftc£peate 



and we brought him off to the 
Hall. 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



The Parish is secure with 
such brave and worthy con- 
stables. I do commend and 
marvel at thy courage, for 
neither art thou nor Euseby 
youthwards of the side of cud- 
gels and sharp stick-play and 
the robber did have his gun, 
tho' it appeareth from thy testi- 
mony it had already belched 
itself empty. Did the fellow 
attempt to dishonestly suborn 
thee, Joseph ? 



Joseph 
Carnaby 



Nay, it would take many a 
shilling to suborn one such as 
me, and he had never a piece 
in pocket or till. 



Cfmrleeote, or 



Euseby 
Treen 



(Aside to Joseph.) Joseph, 
it had been wiser, now I re- 
member the lad's father hath 
money, had we given him 
more opportunity to attempt 
suborning. (Aloud to Sir 
Thomas.) No, Your Worship, 
there was no time for suborn- 
ing either of us, no good oppor- 
tunity — (becomes silent as 
Joseph plucks his doublet). 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



Thou art faithful constables 
and honest men. Whatsayest 
thou, Will Shakespeare, to the 
charge ? 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Your Worship must know 
that I do now and again walk 
about under the stars to catch 
something of fancy and phan- 



(2tbe atrial of a^ifliam Sfjaftcspeare 



tasy, being given to poetry and 
such writing 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



Aye, but it is not well to 
concern thyself with stars and 
such things. Familiarity doth 
breed disrespect. I did hear of 
a man once who thought so 
little of the noon-day sun that 
he would gaze up into its very 
face and forthwith set to sneez- 
ing in seeming rebellious disre- 
gard of its greatness and pow- 
er. But, go on, lad, go on. 



Will 

Shakespeare 



1 was walking through the 
forest contemplating the great 
goodness of God in giving the 
ownership of those lordly trees 
to so worthy a Knight, when 
suddenly the bushes gave way 



Cbarlecote, or 



and an angry, snorting buck- 
deer made as if to run me 
through with his spikes. I 
drew back and in my fright the 
gun did discharge and the deer 
lay dead at my feet. Being 
dead, it was no longer a deer, 
but venison and being venison 
I was no longer in great dread 
thereof. I thought what a 
strange pity to leave it to rot 
when Master Silas might have 
a chance to smell it basting and 
to move his godless teeth 
through its fattened ribs. So 
I was fetching it out of the 
forest to bear it to Charlecote 
House when these two fellows 
were sent by fortune to relieve 
my shoulders of the heavy and 
unusual burden. 



(2TJje <3trial of i©ifliam Sbafte^peare 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Euseby 
Treen 



A man must ever protect 
his life against a wild and 
dangerous beast, but how 
earnest by the gun ? 

It hath long been in the air 
of report that Charlecote forest 
had a few bucks of ferocious 
inclining, and only the other 
day this very deer did attack 
Euseby Treen and but for his 
courage had had his life of 
him. 

Aye, Your Worship, the lad 
speaks truth of that deer, and 
but for my strength and honest 
cudgeling 1 had not been here 
this day to do my duty as a 
constable. The deer was much 
given to raging, and I can tell 
your worship. 



Cfjartccote, or 



Will 
Shakespeare 



(Aside to Euseby Treen.) 
I will suborn thee finely for 
that supporting testimony 
some day, good Euseby. 



(Silas Gough in the mean- 
time has been in secret con- 
versation with Sir Thomas, 
evidently urging some sum- 
mary punishment on Will 
Shakespeare.) 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



Youth, thou hath made 
some strong explanation of the 
death of the deer and thy con- 
versation hath shown that 
thou art a lad not without 
parts and with a heart mov- 
able by the heavier storms 
of grace. Thy contemplative 
mood of mind when in the 



(3Cbe (Atrial of UMIiam Sbafocspcarc 



forest hath not a little turned 
my heart toward thee. But 
Silas Gough our spiritual guide 
and adviser hath cleared to us 
the grave enormity of thy rude 
trespassing in the Park, thereby 
beyond doubt provoking in the 
first instance the deer to his 
threatening movement, and the 
good chaplain hath likewise 
brought to our notice thy con- 
stant conduct these last sum- 
mers in enacting scenes and 
plays on the green-sward by 
the Avon, and in drawing into 
thy wanton company half the 
youth in the neighborhood, 
imitating Kings, Queens and 
Princes, Fairies, Elfs and Sprites, 
Cardinals, Knights and Min- 
isters, strange men from 



Cfcarlceotc, or 



France, Venice and Mantua, 
and even as the story goes, 
enacting the dusky Moors, 
with loud mouthings, bold 
phrases, and with such a shak- 
ing of arms, heads and limbs 
that other villagers have 
thought the Stratford town 
delivered over to the Evil One. 



The knave hath no con- 
science. He hath no knowl- 
edge. No decency or humility 
of youth can find its way down 
the six appearing hairs of his 
beard. He hath as much 
acquaintance with heaven as 
he hath with a throne or a 
palace. Dost thou think, thou 
common player of interludes, 
that thou and thy crew can 



(Cfje (Crial of J©ifliam &tmfce?'peate 



enact the part of Kings and 
Queens and go unpunished of 
the law ? Wouldst thou dare 
lay the face or image of a King 
or Queen upon a coin of the 
realm, and yet thou dost 
recklessly counterfeit the entire 
person of a Prince. The im- 
pression of an Emperor's face 
on a farthing is felonous and 
rope-worthy. Yet thou and 
thy vile actors would imitate 
his body and voice, wear his 
crown and mantle, strut across 
the sward with his majestic 
step, and pretend to be royal 
and glorious. Out upon thee ! 
Canst thy shallow brain and 
weak conception drink in the 
language of Kings? Thinkest 
thou that King calleth King, 



Cbarleeotc, or 



like thine ignorant players, filch- 
er and fibber, whirlagig and 
nincompoop. This familiarity 
is for the cheese-eating, beer- 
drinking guzzlers on the tavern 
bench. Instead of this, the 
horn blows, the drum beats, 
and a thousand fellows like 
thee are thrown into death, 
and when the Kings have 
cleared the land of such scuff, 
they render God thanks. 
Touch not such high and for- 
bidden fruit. When I think of 
thy rude boldness I would 
have thee wince — thou who 
art but the parings of a quince. 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Oh, Your Worship, I pray 
thee thank Master Silas in my 
unworthy name for these 



(€be dnal of UDifliam .tsbahespearc 



words of wince and quince. 
Their marriage hath given my 
memory a jog it hath wanted 
for this week or more. 

How now, rascal, on what 
hath thy viperous fangs fas- 
tened. I did but say that 
Kings and Queens were too 
high and unattainable a fruit 
for thee to touch who art but 
as the parings of a quince, a 
sort of fruit I take to be the 
meanest ever borne by tree or 
bush. 



Will 

Shakespeare 



Your Worship, it is but a 
week last Sunday that being in 
Oxford on my father's business, 
I sought opportunity to refresh 
my soul by the rich and 



Cbariecote, or 



precious sermons which there 
fall on scholars. It came to 
pass that after a heavy and 
saving sermon on the way from 
the church the preacher caught 
up to me — I having been started 
on my way earlier than he, but 
stopping now and then to 
gauge the instructive points to 
the parent text — and the good 
man did speak to me and did 
deign even to converse with 
so humble a hearer. We did 
talk of poetry and the large 
fields of fruits and flowers open 
to the poets, when the Doctor 
said unto me, "Lad, not thirty 
miles from this very spot there 
dwelleth in Knightly retire- 
ment the greatest poet of Eng- 
land, one who turning aside 



tithe atrial of UMliam Srjaftejspcarc 



from the flowers and fruits 
which have been gathered by 
poets old and young and in all 
times and under all skies, was 
in truth the first to handle the 
humble quince." He did then 
repeat the lines beginning — 

" Chloe, I would not have thee wince, 
That I unto thee send a quince." 

Thereupon I was constrained 
by my pride to tell him that I 
lived within three measured 
miles of the hand that penned 
those noble lines. 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



Aye, aye, sensible youth, I 
did write those verses. Those 
were the days when I had 
sweet dreams and insights into 
the garden of poetry, but alas, 



Cbariecotc, or 



I pursued the muses no great 
ways. 



Will 
Shakespeare 



To the regret of scholars, 
said Dr. Underhill. 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



Good lad, didst say Dr. 
Underhill? Was it with that 
great man thou didst walk and 
talk? The learnedest clerk in 
England? 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Even he, and methinks I 
did walk an inch or two taller 
remembering that I could pass 
near to and perhaps see the 
very fields and forests belong- 
ing to this Knightly poet. 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



William, thou shalt have 
free passage throughout Charle- 
cote forest and into Charlecote 



(£be (£rial of J©i«iam &l)afce$peare 



House. Take heed, Joseph 
Carnaby, and thou Euseby 
Treen, this wise and comely 
youth is to go and come un- 
questioned by such as ye. 



Will 

Shakespeare 



I thank your Worship. Dr. 
Underbill will be glad to know 
of this, for he bade me inquire 
of thee and know if ever the 
muse moved thee now. 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



Nay, Will, this knee is a bit 
stiff to mount Pegasus. But I 
will give thee copies rounded 
out in the plain hand of good 
Ephraim Barnett here, of some 
of my more polished verses. I 
do recall another set of verses 
made from almost as humble 
fruit, albeit a fruit of the water, 



Cbariecote, or 



and which did make no small 
stir I am told. It opened in its 
first running much like this — 

The Lucy is the finest fish 
That ever lay on garnished dish ; 
Sweeter far than tench or mullet, 
Sea-bred food for Knightly gullet, 
No other Arms or honor choose ye 
Who hath the bone or flesh of Lucy. 

(Here Will Shakespeare is 
shaken with laughter and un- 
able to contain himself.) 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



I do methink me, Willie, 
that if thou hearest much more 
of my poetry and my suc- 
cesses, Dr. Underhill himself 
could not drag thee away from 
my skirt. 



Will 
Shakespeare 



I would I had a bone from 



($fje atrial of UMliam .§>f)ahc8pcare 



the back of that Lucy, Ha ! 
Ha ! ! 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



Sweet Will, it is said that 
the Queen's highness when 
she did hear these verses said 
unto her courtiers to the sore 
travail of some who thought 
upon themselves as poets — 

"We need not envy our 
young cousin of Scotland his 
thistles, having ourselves such 
a pike-handling poet by the 
banks of the loyal Avon." 



The lad may hang without 
me, for I am called by the voice 
of my stomach to a delayed 
dinner. 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Your Worship knoweth that 



Cbadecote, or 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



it is better nine other drones 
like unto Silas be fed unwor- 
thily than that one faithful 
worker shall go famished. 

There, sweet Willie, thou 
must remember Silas is more in 
years than thou and 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Aye, your worship, but 1 
sorrow that he will not grow 
wise or good with his years. 
A minnow by long living will 
not grow into a whale. 



I plainly see this rope-des- 
tined youth can twist and 
turn other things besides vil- 
lainous words and irreverent 
phrases. But I must tell your 
worship — 



(Cbe (Crial of UDtfuam £>bahc£peare 



(He speaks long and eagerly 
into the ear of Sir Thomas.) 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



But, Silas, the youth is 
reasonable and hath a good 
mind and will readily consent 
to thy demand. Boy, Master 
Silas Gough will be content if 
thou wilt promise 



Nay, he must swear, he 
must make oath ! 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



Well, well, if thou wilt have 
it so. Good Willie, thou must 
swear to no longer think upon 
Hannah Hathaway, here. As 
Priest and Parish Counsellor 
and spiritual guardian, I feel 
that what Master Silas asks of 
thee is right and seemly. Do 



Cbadccote, or 



thou then take this oath, 
thou? 



Wilt 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Oh ! that will I, a solemn 
oath, a trysting oath. I have 
already registered an oath of 
inclination. Let me register 
one of compulsion. Let me 
quickly take the oath. 



Sir Thomas 
Lucy 



Good Master Ephraim, give 
the lad the bound scriptures. 



Swear thou then to forget 
Hannah Hathaway and never 
more go near to Shottery or 
enter into her mother's cot- 
tage. Swear, swear it. 



Hannah 
Hathaway 



(With her head in 
hands.) Oh ! Will, Will- 



her 



<£bc (Crial of I©iUiam &f)akctfpeare 



Will 
Shakespeare 



Here, then, I do swear — I 
do swear by the sun that gov- 
erns the day, I do swear by 
the moon that rules the night, 
I do swear by the stars that 
ever have their will of men, 
never to forget thee my Han- 
nah Hathaway, never, never, 
never. 

(As he says this he throws 
down the scriptures, jumps 
through the open window and 
disappears. Curtain falls and 
scene ends.) 



FINIS 



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